


Apple Tarts and Autumn Hearts

by VioletBehaviour



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Apple Tarts, Apples, Bare Chested Charlie, Blasted Shoes, Cheesy, Chilly Air, Comedy, Crisp Apples, F/M, Fluff and Humor, Humor, Muggles, Orchards, POV Pansy Parkinson, Romantic Comedy, Strangers to Lovers, Who Needs A Shirt Anyway, pureblood, romania - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-16
Updated: 2019-11-16
Packaged: 2021-02-07 10:58:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 21,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21456940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VioletBehaviour/pseuds/VioletBehaviour
Summary: Pansy finds herself in Romania staying at her late uncle’s orchard. When a redheaded neighbor from the dragon sanctuary nearby starts helping out on the grounds, there's a lot more than apple tarts heating up.
Relationships: Pansy Parkinson/Charlie Weasley
Comments: 31
Kudos: 34
Collections: Pumpkin & Ginger Fall Fest





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Pumpkin & Ginger Fall for the wonderful Facebook group Weasleys, Witches, & Writers
> 
> . I very blatantly broke the rules on word count, but I couldn’t stop. Thank you for this fest and this opportunity to write again for you all! I hope you enjoy
> 
> 🍎 Prompt: Chilly air and crisp apples by RooOJoy 🍎
> 
> I wanted to give a very large appreciation to my alpha/beta and dearest friend, VinoAmore for always being there for me, no matter what craziness real life brings us. I love you and thank you for everything. I put her through absolute hell with this one. ha

* * *

The window was cold against her cheek, her face pressed firmly to the glass. She was sure she looked ridiculous to anyone she passed on the street, her cheek squished, her nose breathing condensation around her nostrils and emphasizing her so called puglike features. She didn’t particularly care. A rare feat seeing how Pansy Parkinson  _ cared _ about her self image more often than not. But here in this moment, as she admired the rustling leaves in the branches overhead, she found herself at odds. Through the steamed over windows, Pansy could catch glimpses of the smeared vibrancy of yellows, reds, and oranges as they danced passed. Glitter streaks of gold floated over the back of her lids, the sensation of heat contrasting with that of the welcomed dip in temperature she felt through the window. She was almost there. She’d never been to her uncle’s orchard before, but somehow felt the shift in the air. Pansy had only wished the circumstances were as colorful as the landscape around her.

The car had pulled off onto a thin gravel drive littered with potholes and overgrown weeds. Though quaint, it didn’t exactly emulate the  _ Parkinson _ namesake. While not in complete disrepair, the moderately sized home had seen better in its prime - shutters faded and peeled resting beside slightly fogged over windows, cracks about the brick and stone combination walls where the foundation had long since settled. Still, the surrounding grounds shimmered under the early afternoon sun, remnants of the dew on the lush green grass appeared as carpet across the lands, lining the gravel drive as she removed herself from the car, one hand resting on the door. There was flush greenery everywhere, contrasting against the bright colored leaves in the surrounding trees, the cottage perched in the clearing’s center. It was open enough to appear welcoming to outsiders such as Pansy yet felt completely secluded - a countryside hideaway. Pansy hadn’t thought this would be a place she would ever call home for the fall, let alone at all. But when a woman clad in black emerged onto the painted white porch, she knew the contents of the letter she clutched in her coat pocket had been true.

She took a deep breath, her right hand still clinging to the door of the old car, her legs frozen in place at the end of the walkway. Images of her youth flooded her mind, some of her favorite and most fondest of moments from a childhood that seemed a century ago. They all included her uncle. They had said she resembled him; her smile and the sharp arch in her brow when she questioned someone’s motives, the inquisitive flash in her jaded blue eyes and the distinct way she would tug on her earlobe when she grew uncomfortable or had a temper. 

Pansy had never met her aunt Elena before, but there she was, standing with a very Romanian - a very  _ muggle _ \- smile across her face. If it hadn’t been for the recent departure of her uncle, Pansy would have been completely content never to have met her at all. Unfortunately, the little girl in her who missed her uncle had somehow talked her into leaving for Romania in the first place.

Pansy had already dealt with the country's sorry excuse for customs. Due to her location, Romania's International Statute of Secrecy deemed her unworthy to use her wand for everyday, “unimportant” spells. So, her wand was marked with a trace not dissimilar to that of an underaged witch or wizard. It was embarrassing - not to mention degrading - to assume Pansy would spend the entirety of her time in Romania in the presence of a muggle woman she knew little of, but on top of that disallowing her the luxury of spending said time with the comfort of magic! It was preposterous.

She attempted a smile, her lips lifted in a slow and blatant uncomfortable expression, and flashed her teeth at the woman. It had taken even longer for her to remove herself from the car completely, finally closing the door behind her as she took a step forward. Her posture swayed, her heels sinking into the damp earth beneath her and she groaned, already agitated at her decision.

“Pansy!” The woman in black called to her in an accent familiar to the locals' tongue, and took steps far too swift towards her to close the distance between them. Before she knew it she was engulfed, the older woman’s arms wrapped tightly around her. Pansy stood a few inches over her, making it twice as awkward. “I’m so happy you decided to come!” She continued, voice muffled against Pansy’s shoulder. Her nose was invaded with the scent of baked goods - more specifically that of cinnamon and nutmeg. She scrunched her face. 

“Okay.” Pansy’s syllables were exaggerated and drawn out, her desperately trying to side step out of the woman formally known as her aunt Elena’s arm hold. “This is nice.” Her tone screamed sarcasm and awkwardness and it took everything in her not to tug her earlobe. 

Before she knew it, Pansy was whipped back, Elena gripping both of her forearms and smiling again. Pansy had never encountered her close friends to be this excited upon her arrival, so having this stranger who had been married to her uncle be so enthusiastic was certainly out of the ordinary.

“Do come inside! I’m sure you have lots of questions!” Elena folded her fingers into Pansy’s and gave a comforting pat, squeezing her hand once before attempting to lead her into the house.

“Actually? No, I don’t.” Pansy jerked her hand back, side stepping again to avoid another heel to be lost in the dirt and ungracefully made her way towards the house ahead of Elena. She snapped her fingers once to signal the driver who grabbed her bags with haste from the boot of the car.

Inside, the driver had taken Pansy’s bags upstairs to the room instructed by Elena, who had followed. Pansy seized that moment to observe the surroundings. The tapered door led them into a long and meager hall which housed the creaking old staircase, an archway on either side, and another door at the opposing end. Pansy was unimpressed with the unaesthetic appeal. She leant to the right, shifting most of her weight to one side in order to peer into the sitting room. It was equally as disappointing. Her mind wandered, wondering how anyone could be comfortable in such a cluster of knicknacks, thick woolen blankets, and dusty old china. At least the windows allowed light in, although the room would look better under no light at all. She didn’t bother examining the room further, instead taking the two steps through the other archway on the left, leading to the kitchen. 

The aged floor creaked beneath her feet as she almost ran into a chair half shoved under a small worn and chipped table. The kitchen was bright and cheery despite the clutter and traffic, a dutch door left open beside a full wall of unpaned windows. To the immediate left of her, a large wood burning stove perched with a kettle atop the iron grate, a small layer of soot and ash littered the floor at its base. There was flour everywhere, and the same scent that invaded Pansy's nostrils before was all the stronger here. There was no mistaking the amount of baking that occurred in this space, remnants of apples and cinnamon sticks left scattered across the limestone countertops. Scrunching her face, she turned her focus back towards the tiny two-chaired table, quickly noticing the mint green colored box resting at the center sealed and closed with a small black bow. She reached for it, but was interrupted by the heavy steps of the driver and quick patterings of Elena just behind.

“Thank you so much for getting her here safely, Martin. Please, I baked you some tarts.” Elena entered the room with a quickness, only jumping slightly as she awkwardly reached around Pansy for the green box, then turned back to the driver. “I made a few extra for Irini as well. Thank you again, my friend.” They embraced, and Pansy once again felt the urge to tug on her earlobe, growing more and more uncomfortable in their presence.

She wasn’t insecure, but when it came to open displays of affection, be it friendly or more, Pansy just didn’t understand the appeal. She often distanced herself from scenes such as these, so she wasn't entirely surprised when her feet carried her back outside. Pansy obviously didn’t know where she was going, but any place was better than where she had just fled, for that she was certain.

Once outside, she removed herself from the porch and fled to the broken cobblestoned path to the right, standing atop the short hill peering down. The scene before her was beautiful. Even  _ she  _ couldn’t deny that. It was almost  _ too  _ perfect, the only thing missing were the angels singing their distant praises. 

A vast expanse of lush stout trees stood perfectly planted in neat rows, and she found herself smiling at the sight of it, losing herself over the sprinkling of red, yellow, and green fruits gracing the stems. On the ground, the aisles of rich grass between each row were colored with the fallen fruit, illuminated by the bright afternoon sun and emphasizing the backdrop of the mountains in the distance. Pansy already found herself descending the steep and uneven steps, the breeze carrying the sweet aroma through the air only piqued her interest further.

The moment her final step hit the ground, Elena’s voice carried down from the cottage, calling out her name. Too caught up in her own curiosity, Pansy ignored the woman’s calls without a second thought, stepping further into the orchard.

The trees were taller than she anticipated, her head inclined upward, admiring the view from underneath. She wondered why her uncle would choose to invest his lands into apples, uncertain the outcome would be worth it aside from the pretty view and baked treats. Then again, her uncle had always been far more ambitious than her father. It was part of what Pansy loved most about him.

She walked aimlessly, brushing the few low hanging branches as she passed. Turning a corner, she ran smack into a rather tall - and rather shirtless - man, causing apples to spill onto the ground from his hands. He shrugged unphased, and bent down to collect his fallen fruit.

“Excuse me! Elena didn’t mention having any hired help.”  _ Not that Pansy had given the woman the opportunity to. _ Pansy stood with her heels half sunken in the mud between two rows of apple trees. Her arms had crossed, and an eyebrow was raised almost completely to her hairline. 

The man, now crouched down at Pansy’s feet, flicked his eyes upward and released a booming laugh. Pansy snarled.

“Oh, no no. I’m not anyone’s  _ help _ .” He ran his fingers through his ridiculously long and wavy hair with one hand, his other cradling the apples like a wee babe. Pansy tried to ignore the flex in his arms. She snarled again.

“So you’re trespassing then?” Pansy chanced a step forward, wobbling again due to the soft earth. She really did need to change her shoes. “I think it would be in your best interest to  _ leave _ .” 

The man smiled again, a faint puff of air visible when he did, the air growing more chilly than Pansy had realized in the short time of wandering from the cottage. 

“Actually, I’m more known to this orchard than you. Why don’t  _ you _ leave?” He rose then, quirking an almost too perfect eyebrow in challenge, a hint of something Pansy couldn’t quite place in his tone. She rolled her eyes.

“I don’t have to explain anything to the likes of  _ you _ .” She staggered to keep her stance, raising her chin higher and shaking slightly from the cold that settled in. 

“Just as I do not have to explain myself to you.” He rested his free hand on his hip, slipping a long finger through a belt loop on his jeans. “Good talking to you though.” He turned his back to her then, disappearing behind another apple tree.

Pansy cleared her throat, growing all the more annoyed with this man’s lack of cooperation. She stomped after him, clearly for no reason other than to pick a fight. For all she knew he truly  _ did _ belong on the orchard. But his reaction was less than satisfactory nonetheless.

“Hey!” The man didn’t turn around. In fact, Pansy could have sworn he picked up the speed in his steps. She released a groan, but tried to keep the same pace. “Get back here!” 

He turned another corner, and Pansy attempted to jog after him. Her heel caught the twig of a fallen branch, however, locking her foot and causing her to lose her balance. Her knees hit first, followed shortly with the palms of both hands, the mud clinging to the fabric of her jeans. Lastly, her chin smacked the ground, and while it had been soft under her steps, she felt the hard collision with a  _ bang _ .

She grunted, caught between disgust and aggravation, her pride shrinking as the distance grew between her and the redheaded stranger. For the first time that day, Pansy worried what she looked like in the presence of another, hoping he had missed her less-than-graceful descent to the ground. To her horror - and rotten luck - her eyes locked with brightest of blue and the man gave a playful wink before disappearing from view. Pansy released a less than proper growl, tossing a nearby fallen apple at the empty space he had once stood. He was obviously no gentleman, not even offering to help her up. 

🍎 🍎 🍎

She couldn’t have been gone long, because the driver of the too old car was only just leaving when Pansy trudged her way back up the path. There was a rip in her pants, a light scrape on her knee, but it was her pride that hurt. She stormed into the cottage, causing a small stout Elena to jump at the sudden slamming of the door.

“Pansy! You gave me a fright! Did you go see the orchards?” Elena was in the kitchen where Pansy could only assume she spent most of her days. Not that Pansy cared, the woman was, after all, irrelevant to her being there.

“You have a man wandering the premises. I would advise you seek someone to remove him from the grounds at once.” Pansy sat down at the table and crossed her ankles, peering over at Elena expectantly. When she only smiled in response, Pansy rolled her eyes. “Tea?”

“Oh!” Elena jumped in realization, her arms shooting up with surprise. She filled and set the kettle back on the stove before taking a seat in the chair across from Pansy. Her eyes went large, concern in her tone. “What man? Did he attack you? You're a mess."

“I didn’t get his name,” she began, ignoring the woman's observation and cleaning the dirt from under her fingernails. “But I scared him off for now.” Pansy wasn’t exaggerating, although if she  _ had _ scared him off it would have been due to the sheer embarrassment of her fall and nothing more.

Elena appeared to have wanted to speak, but the kettle sang out in a shriek, causing both women in the room to jump. Elena got up to silence it immediately. 

“What did this man look like?” 

“Rude, red hair, and without a shirt.” Pansy didn’t look up from her busy work to her nails, but her eyes flicked when a steaming cup of tea came into view on the table.

“Oh! You mean Charlie! He’s always been such a great asset to the orchard.”

Pansy took a too large sip in response, the hot tea burning her tongue. “You know this unruly man?” 

Laughing, Elena reached a kind hand to rest atop Pansy’s. Had Pansy not been shocked to learn the stranger was allowed on the grounds, she would have slid her hand away. 

“He is from the reserve next to the grounds. He comes and asks to help in payment for the apples he takes for his animals. He’s such a nice boy.”

Pansy rolled her eyes. There was nothing nice about that Charlie. It was shocking her uncle would allow such a person onto his lands, then again perhaps she didn’t know her uncle at all. The thought caused her eye to twitch, a tingling burn washed over and she feared to blink. She was surprised at the sudden change in emotions. Elena’s other hand had snaked its way across the table, now cupping Pansy’s into a full comforting hold. Pansy pushed out her bottom lip with a raised chin. She refused to cry in front of this muggle woman. 

“I’m tired. I’ll be in my room.”

Pansy may have jerked her hands free albeit too aggressively from the woman at the table, but she didn’t care. She shot upright and climbed the creaking stairs, slamming the door behind her.

Her bedroom, located on the third floor attic and was too small to be an actual room, reflected the same style as the rest of the cottage - much to her own horror. Faded pictures of princesses and castles adorned the wood paneled walls, and it was barely large enough to hold a four post bed and a three drawer dresser. An arched door stood at the opposing wall, facing the back of the cottage. Pansy was surprised the cottage would have a balcony, but who was she to question. She was thankful for the later opportunity to air out the musty old woman smell that currently occupied the air.

She plopped down hard on the bed, grateful for a moment of peace from the insufferable Romanian woman. At the slightest of contact, the bed screamed in protest, squeaking and shrilling like a banshee at any and all movements. Pansy was horrified. The old spring mattress had sagged in the center, trapping her in the most terrifying harrowing pallet from hell. Pansy rivaled the screams in the springs, cursing the fact she couldn’t use her wand to at least shut the blasted thing up with a silencing charm. Not to mention the dire need of a cushioning charm since she counted at least three springs stabbing her in the back. How muggles lived their sorry day to day lives without magic was lost on her, much like her way to escape from the bed. She threw herself backwards, sinking further into the lumpy loud monstrosity and began kicking like the spoiled child she was. 

Though most would consider this a less than productive action, Pansy found it to be most satisfying, allowing her frustrations for all things Romania to release from her lips at once. Muggles ruin everything, and more specifically  _ Elena _ ruined everything. If it wasn't for her, her Uncle Perseus would have stayed in England with Pansy where he belonged. Instead, he had chosen that woman over  _ her _ , leaving her with no one at home aside from her parents who, rarely gave notice to her existence unless she stepped out of line. But Pansy didn't step out of line. In fact, Pansy was mostly the  _ by-the-book _ pureblood her parents should have been proud of. Perhaps they were, but they never shared their thoughts on such matters with her. It was all business and investments the moment she finished Hogwarts. 

Pansy narrowed her eyes at the ceiling - the way her uncle just  _ stopped _ showing up without a word all because he chose the muggle life over the happiness of his only niece! It would be inconceivable to anyone at a young age, and the grudge she carried over the years only grew with her ability to toss shade and the hatred she felt for this bed.

This simply would not stand. Surely Elena would have something more of Pansy's standards - or up to code - for her to rest her head on. With a new flare of determination, Pansy managed to wiggle and slide off the side of the bed, wrapping and pulling herself up by gripping one of the posts for support. At least the wood was sturdy enough as she half expected the whole thing to collapse on her altogether.

With a few unstable steps and a quick flip of her hair to smooth it down, Pansy marched back down the rickety narrow staircase to give Elena a piece of her mind.


	2. Chapter Two

She practically tripped over her own feet, still reeling from the struggle she had with the bed and fuming at the self inflicted fire of hatred she had for Elena. She mumbled to herself, just ready to blast the muggle woman with everything she had, going over the same lines repeatedly until her feet planted firmly onto the second floor. Pansy could hear the soft whimpers of the older woman, and krept towards the door adjacent to the stairs. Peering in, Elena was there on her knees beside the bed, an old worn journal sprawled out at her feet, the pages etched with splattered inked script. 

She wasn’t entirely sure why she just stood there in the doorway, watching Elena weep on the floor, but she did know the fire she held on the way down had diminished, her brow furrowed as she crossed her arms and tugged on her ear. Pansy was fairly certain her bottom lip would be chapped in the morning due to her chewing it so hard. 

During the slight shift of Pansy’s weight, the floor beneath her creaked, exposing her position to Elena who looked up. The woman’s eyes had tinged pink in color, and glossed under the low lighting she kept from the lamp on her bedside table. She quickly wiped away her tears with her sleeve and shuffled off the floor.

“Oh, Pansy, forgive me.” She bent back down and scooped the journal from the floor, closing it and tucking it under her chest, hugging it close. “I did not see you.”

Normally Pansy would have scoffed, her hatred for the woman who stole her uncle away being stronger than her empathy, however, in that moment Pansy couldn’t find the words to retort. Instead, she only shrugged her shoulders. 

“Do you want some tea?” Elena was already approaching the doorway before her sentence completed, Pansy side stepping out of the way with a nod. She followed Elena to the kitchen.

Both women sat in silence for what felt like ages to Pansy. She cupped her hands around the warm porcelain of her tea while Elena fidgeted with the journal in her hand. Pansy tried to fight it, but it had piqued her interest, and ignoring it wasn’t working anymore.

“What is that bloody thing you keep clutching?”

Elena smiled. It was one of those smiles people gave when receiving a compliment for a job well done. Or when it was their gift’s turn to be unwrapped. 

“It was Pers’, your uncle.” 

Pansy scoffed in both relief that her curiosity was sated, but also at the pointless clarification Elena chose to provide. Obviously Pers, or Perseus, was her uncle. Elena placed the journal flat on the table and slid it over toward Pansy, causing her to raise an eyebrow.

“You look so much like him you know. It is uncanny.”

“So I’ve been told.” Pansy clearly had her fire back, something about the way Elena was always so nice, so accommodating. It set Pansy off. But despite Pansy’s efforts, Elena gave her another one of her smiles and looked her in the eyes.

“He would have wanted you to have it of course. I had meant to give it to you in the morning.”

Pansy nodded, picking up the journal. She _ should _ have said thank you, but she didn’t have it in her. Instead, she took a sip of her tea and stood to leave.

“I’m heading back to bed. I’ll see you in the morning.”

As Pansy made her way to the door, she heard a slight hum from behind her, causing her to turn her attention back to Elena, who was still seated at the table.

“Goodnight, Pansy. I truly am happy you are here.” 

Pansy’s mouth pursed, a pout playing on her lips but she only bobbed her head, clutching the journal as she slowly turned back toward the hall and up the stairs. The bed no longer seemed to be a problem after that. Sure it still screamed and screeched, but Pansy didn’t toss and turn like she had initially anticipated. Instead, she fell fast asleep to the words of her late uncle, a faint smile on her lips.

🍎 🍎 🍎

The following day, Pansy found herself engrossed in her uncle’s journal, sitting atop one of the short and uneven stone fence walls of the cobbled steps. Though the weather proved chilly overall, the sun was bright and provided the perfect amount of light for reading. She sat with her legs crossed and bent at the knees, her feet folded beneath her, the journal in one hand and a crispy apple in the other. Pansy, being the considerable lady she was, couldn’t help but take excessively large bites into the fruit, causing juice to trickle down her chin. She slurped before biting down again, clenching it in her mouth as she turned the page. The apple remained held wedged in her teeth. Her mother would have been proud. 

“Reading anything good?” Charlie had appeared in front of her, carrying an empty crate. Pansy side eyed him, flicking her focus down to her nose at the apple clenched in her teeth. She bit down hard, causing the apple to split away and drop into her now free hand. There was a long dramatic pause between them, the only sound being that of the crispy crunch from Pany’s mouthful of apple. Charlie smirked when she finally swallowed.

“Nothing I do concerns you, Charlie.” She didn’t look up from the pages she was reading, instead scooting herself so her back was mostly to him. “You’d do well to remember that.”

“This coming from such a high bred lady of class.” Pansy snorted. At least he realized his place.

“Is there a reason you’re still here, _ Charles _?” Pansy still didn’t look up from the journal in her lap, but his shadow loomed over her shoulder, spilling onto her page. She shrugged, turning to face him, a hand to shield her eyes from the sun.

“I just find it funny is all.” He adjusted the crate in his arms, Pansy not missing the bare skin of his chest. She involuntarily shivered and in that moment she wasn’t entirely sure if it was due to the fact he didn’t have on a shirt in this weather, or if it was due to the fact he didn’t have on a shirt in this weather. She grunted in response.

“And what, pray tell, is so funny exactly?” She had closed the journal at this point, leaning forward and presenting a not so sweet grin. 

“Well, just yesterday you couldn’t stay away from me.” He flashed a smile and Pansy could have sworn his teeth sparkled under the sun. This caused another disapproving grunt.

“You have an entirely different memory of yesterday than I do, Charlie.” She uncrossed her legs, sliding them over the side of the stone fence where she perched. “I was merely removing you from my site completely. Yet, here you are!” Her arms were presented up above her head.

Charlie released a deep laugh, one that emerged from his very manly chest. Pansy clearly didn’t take notice to the way his freckled and fair complexion looked under the afternoon sun. Or the way the breeze caught his hair. And she most certainly didn’t notice the way his arse looked in the jeans he wore as he began to walk away, shaking his head to her comment. She closed her mouth.

“Look, I just figured you’d want a proper tour of the place, seeing how you only saw it from the ground.” He was still laughing, and it took everything in her not to chuck the half eaten apple in her hand at the back of his head. It pained her to admit he was right though, and she released a loud and whiny groan. Hopping down, she closed the journal and tucked it away into a small satchel she had resting beside her. She _ did _ want to see the grounds fully and as much as she would rather it _ not _ be with the freckled barbarian, she flung the satchel over her shoulder and she followed him anyway.

Charlie smirked when she appeared at his side, one eyebrow raised and his bloody hair shining. Pansy envied that natural glimmer he had over her own locks, her sleek black appearing dull in comparison. She blamed the lack of magic in her life and ruled out the idea of Charlie's hair just being _ better _. Because that would be impossible. 

“Your uncle spoke of you often.” Charlie said, setting the basket down at his feet. He placed his now free hands on his hips, meeting her eyes.

"I _ am _ a great topic for conversation." Pansy was flippant with her tone as she tossed her hair back, not realizing her comment would be considered vain to most. Charlie simply smiled wider, his eyes watching her with intrigue.

“You’re an interesting person.” He flashed her a wink. Pansy rolled her eyes, trying to measure up to the man. She had always considered herself tall, but Charlie towered over her, his rugged bare chest meeting her at eye level.

“And you’re a _ git _. So happy we can be better acquainted.” She stepped forward so her back was to him, peering out at the rows of colored trees. It was still beautiful. “I wasn’t aware tour guides spoke about those they were guiding.”

“But you’re such a great topic of conversation.” Pansy jerked her head back over her shoulder just as Charlie walked passed her. He tugged his wand from gods knows where - the lack of options as to where he could have stashed it being minimal at best. 

“If you plan on mocking me, Charlie, I _ will _ leave.” She crossed her arms. The wedged boots she wore didn’t offer her the sturdy stance she had hoped for. She was beginning to hate this orchard, despite its beauty. 

“Oh come on, Pansy, like you can’t take a bit of teasing.” Pansy actually _ couldn’t _ handle teasing unless she was the one doing it. He offered his hand to her when she wobbled for the fourth time since standing there, and she reluctantly took his hand, though not without making it known how much she didn’t want to. He pulled her until she was standing in front of him, his hand now touching her back between her shoulders for support. It was soothing, the feel of his fingers through her jumper. Innocent and strong. A hint of a smile twitched at the corner of her lips.

“What sort of things did my uncle say about me?” Charlie smiled, though Pansy was convinced he was always smiling. It suited him.

“He mentioned quite a few things over the years. Although I think my favorite was you demanding he build you a castle.” Pansy released a heartfelt laugh, one where tears formed in her eyes at the memory. 

“He told you that?”

“I’d like to hear you tell it.” Pansy quirked an eyebrow to her counterpart, studying him through slightly narrowed eyes. Charlie’s smile widened. “If anyone doubts your relation to Perseus, make that face. They will immediately take it back.”

Pansy laughed in spite of herself. It was true, she had acquired her uncle’s many animated expressions. And she valued every one.

“You really want to hear about a bossy little girl demanding a castle?”

“I would. As long as you don’t mind me picking some of these apples as you do.” He plucked an apple from the tree and tossed it Pansy’s way.

“Alright.” She rolled the apple in her hands. She was sure Charlie was messing with her, but it was one of her favorite memories with her uncle. “He would call me his little princess. And he would come stand outside my bedroom balcony with his broom and save me from the tallest tower - or my parents’ home - and whisk me away to Diagon for ice cream. I always told him I wanted a castle of my own. One where I didn’t have to be rescued from anyone, and we could live happily ever after. Together, he and I.” Pansy hadn’t noticed the tear fall, but she felt her eyes burn. She cleared her throat, peering down at the apple in her hand. She rubbed it against her chest to shine it, then took a quick bite. 

“Oh! What kind of apple is this?” She peered down at the apple again, the inside being a shade of lavender hued. She jerked her head to Charlie. 

“Oh, that one is the Princess P. One of your uncle’s own creations. I found it fitting to the story.”

Pansy felt everything and nothing all at once. She wasn’t able to cry or smile or _ do _ anything. She could only stand there, holding the hybrid apple in her hand and stare blankly at Charlie with her mouth open. 

“You okay there, princess?” Her eyes fluttered to life, peering over at the man she barely knew, rightfully despised, and truly didn’t understand. She wasn’t sure she wanted to, but a part of her didn’t hate the way it sounded when he called her princess.

“I’m fine. Naturally.” She straightened her back, wiggling out of his reach. She clutched the apple with one hand as if her life depended on it and tugged her earlobe with the other. “So my uncle made his own apples?”

Charlie nodded before returning to filling his crate.

“Sure did. He has a few hybrids out here but-” he stopped short, flicking his eyes to Pansy before pursing his lips. She could see the hesitation in his gaze and she couldn’t let it go.

“But?” Pansy egged him on. Charlie stopped his picking and stood in front of her, his arms crossed across his chest.

“His hybrids aren’t growing anymore.”

“What are you talking about, you just picked one off and gave it to me. It tasted fine. _ More _ than fine in fact.” Pansy was talking with her hands, more specifically with the Princess P apple she was holding.

“Pansy, a lot more goes into these hybrids than taste. I’ve been monitoring them for awhile, _ all _of them, and there hasn’t been new blossoms since your uncle got sick.”

Pansy was an intelligent girl, one who scored high in her classes in Hogwarts, and excelled in her apprenticeship at her father’s firm, but whatever Charlie was saying to her was not making a lick of sense. And despite her major efforts in _ not _ sounding stupid, the only word to leave her lips was. “Huh?”

To Charlie’s credit, he didn’t laugh though Pansy was certain he wanted to. 

“Your uncle used complex spells over his orchard, Pansy, some being of his own creation. He was brilliant that way. Not to mention thorough. He kept those spells close to him at all times, so obtaining them is bloody impossible now that he’s gone. Those hybrids will never last without the revision of those wards.” 

Pansy quirked an eyebrow again to Charlie, taking in everything she had just heard. Of course her uncle was thorough, he was a Parkinson! It was in their nature to leave no detail untouched. She bounced the apple in her hand, truly studying the way the lavender interior never bruised or turned. The sweet aroma of the surrounding trees wafted by her, almost as if giving her a sign. She scoffed, throwing the apple to the ground in frustration and began to storm off. This wasn’t some cheesy romance where the answer to everything was right there in front of her - she purposely did _ not _ peer over her shoulder to see if Charlie was watching her leave. Luckily, he didn’t call after her either. 

Her mind was reeling as she tried to piece together everything presented to her since she arrived in this bloody country. Tidbits of facts and memories colliding with a broken timeline fast forwarded. If her uncle truly had spells to be found, Pansy would find them.


	3. Chapter Three

Pansy ran into Elena in the kitchen that following morning, hard at work and covered in flour. Despite her efforts in resisting, Pansy reached for one of the apple tarts presented on the counter, popping it into her mouth. This was the first time she had tried one of Elena’s tarts, and her eyes immediately flicked to the older woman in slight disbelief.

“Elena! These are bloody amazing.” Her mouth was full of course, another blatant example of her proper upbringing. 

Elena beamed at the praise, her round face glowing. Her hands never stopped their work on the tarts, kneading the dough and coating them with butter before popping another tray into the oven.

“Thank you, Pansy! I made them with the last of your uncle’s Romanian Sunshines. They make for the best tarts.” Elena hadn’t looked up, but Pansy watched her in slight bewilderment.

“So, my uncle told you about his hybrid apples?” She plopped down in one of the chairs at the table, taking another bite of the apple tart. Elena wiped her hands on her apron, turning her gaze to Pansy fully for the first time.

“Of course, dear. He would go on and on about them. It was getting him to _ stop _ talking about them that was the trick.” Pansy actually giggled, but she didn’t allow it to show for long. She still didn’t like the woman, though she hated her less. “He was so proud of his work.” Elena’s eyes appeared distant then, as if she was lost in another time. Pansy tried to offer her a comforting smile, despite the physical awkwardness when she pulled her lips upward. She could only hope it looked more genuine than it felt. Elena removed her apron and sat across Pansy at the table. “You know, I had always hoped you’d come. Your uncle had always said such nice things.” She smiled, the lines on her face showing it was something she did often, though her eyes were proof she hadn’t in some time. “He never did do your beauty justice though.”

Pansy was startled at the comment as Elena stood up again to continue her work. She knew she was beautiful, obviously. Pansy fucking Parkinson was nothing short of gorgeous in her _ own _ eyes, but it was nice hearing it from someone else.

“How does that work, exactly?” Pansy was fidgeting with her nails. Elena peered over her shoulder, a wash rag in her hand. “The part about what to tell you and what not to. With magic I mean.” 

She hadn't meant to stumble in her words but she was genuinely curious. There she was, in a country with a trace on her wand yet her uncle dove head first into muggle territory with an orchard full of magic infused apples. None of it made sense. Elena contemplated her question, packing up the last of the batch of tarts into another mint green box before turning to face her completely. She leant against the counter.

“I’m surprised you haven’t inquired on this sooner, Pansy.” The older woman smiled at her. “There was much to explain as you can imagine. Although legally he wasn’t allowed to tell me anything until we were married.”

“And how long were you together before you married?”

“Some two years or so.” Elena closed her eyes, and Pansy imagined she was reminiscing of the time her uncle was still alive, courting the woman before her. She almost grinned at the thought. 

“So you never suspected anything?”

“Well, your uncle was a very private man. Marriage never changed that. And before I came along he had two loves and two loves only. This orchard and you.” Pansy met the woman’s eyes, catching the purity within them. There was no jealousy as Pansy held onto, but something else entirely and Pansy shrugged it away, blinking the tingling sensation behind her eyes.

“He was the father I’d wish I had until-” Pansy paused, flicking her eyes away from the other woman and clearing her throat. “So, what is the story with these apple tarts? You just hold up in this kitchen all day or?”

Pansy was notoriously cunning in changing topics. Her father had called it good business sense; her uncle called it deflection. She sided with her father on this one.

“It’s an old family recipe. I suppose I got lucky marrying a man with an orchard, yeah?” Pansy gave a half hearted laugh in response. She didn’t see it as luck at all. “Well, it was my tarts that hooked him I think. We had met at the bakery in town where I used to work. I would make them special just for him.” Elena once again lost herself in her youth. Pansy, scrunching her nose, tried to keep her face neutral - and was failing.

“How does one make an apple tart exactly?” 

It was something she actually cared little to know, but Pansy was resisting the urge to tug her ear with the overload of sugar in this kitchen that had nothing to do with the baked treats. Elena perked up.

“I could show you, if you’d like. I had hoped-” Elena trailed off only to present Pansy with a matching apron. “Come. Let’s get started.” 

The baking ammensed over the course of the next several hours, Pansy following Elena’s lead in a grueling and slow process until she finally began getting the hang of it. She was surprised at the amount of laughs the two shared, and the number of memories that spilled over like the batter in Pansy’s bowl. It was nice, if not needed. For both of them. Pansy still didn’t like the woman, but it was comforting to know there was someone other than herself who understood the pain behind her loss.

When they had finished, they had enough tarts to feed half the village - or simply a few dozen. They were all boxed up and tied with little black bows.

“I suppose I should take some of these up to the bakery. They pay a decent penny for them.” Elena removed her apron and put the kettle on. Pansy licked the last of the apple filling from her finger. 

“I could take them. I need some space anyway, seeing how the orchard is typically overrun with idiots or _ an _ idiot I should say.” Pansy mostly said that second part to herself, but she could see Elena to her side grinning. 

“I would like that,” she chose to ignore the comment about Charlie. “Before you go, there is something I’ve been meaning to apologize for.”

This piqued Pansy’s interest.

“Oh?”

“That mattress up there is a bit unruly, but I do hope it isn’t too troublesome.”

Pansy felt her eye twitch. She hated that mattress, and the rush of complaints involving it came to the front of her mind. Yet, all Pansy could think about was getting those blasted tarts to the bakery, so she shrugged it off and smiled instead.

“It’s loud, but I’ll manage.” Elena started loading some of the tarts into a basket. Pansy groaned. An extension charm would do wonders in this situation. “Can you bring the car around?”

“Oh, Pansy. I’m afraid the only ride I have to offer you is my trusted old bike.” Another twitch befell Pansy’s left eye, but she scooped up the large basket of tarts anyway, following Elena out the dutch door to an old rusted bike leaning against the siding of the house. “She’s old, but sturdy. The village isn’t far. You sure you don’t want me to go?”

“It’s fine. Really.” Pansy waved Elena off, setting the basket in the front of the bike. She swung her leg over, straddling the seat and kicking off with confidence. Unfortunately for Pansy, she hadn’t actually ridden a bike before, so she wobbled and jerked down the narrow drive. She saw Elena waving goodbye to her back from the faded side mirror. She clung onto the handle bars for dear life as she struggled down the street.

The wind was blowing in the opposite direction, causing Pansy’s hair to constantly smack her in the face. She didn’t anticipate the weather to be so breezy, the rusted pale, old bike cold to the touch, but there she was. The ride from the cottage to the nearby village was _ not _ just around the corner as Elena claimed, but a gruelling fifteen minute bike ride. 

There was nothing smooth about the ride, one of the wheels causing her to bounce from being bent somewhere, and the cracks in the seat created a less than pleasant pinch to the left cheek of her bum. She pedaled and groaned and whined the entirety of those fifteen minutes, until she slowly came to the front of what she could only imagine to be the bakery as the sign held a rather cliche muffin displayed on the window pane. Pansy was less than impressed. 

In the worst attempt to park her bike, Pansy managed to run over her foot, improperly stop the bike in time before slamming it into a curb, and broke off the kickstand, toppling the bike to the side - twice. Luckily, however, she had already plucked the packaged tarts from the basket and hooked the handle on her arm for safer travel. 

She watched as the bike fell to the ground beside the bike rack and peered about to ensure no one saw. The street was empty aside from a few muggles down the street huddled outside a stucco building. Music poured out every so often when the door creaked open. Pansy wondered what the time was for such an establishment to be booming so early in the day, then again she didn’t anticipate much else to do in a village such as this.

She ignored them, setting her gaze to the bakery behind her. When she popped inside, the ringing of the bell over the door welcomed her. A plump woman with yellow hair greeted her behind the counter.

“Something I can get you?” 

“Actually I have these apple tarts here for you. Elena sent me?” The plump woman’s cheeks shined, and she breathed in with gleeful surprise.

“You can’t be Perseus’s niece? Look at you! A lot older than I imagined you. Oh, I am sorry for your loss.”

Pansy tried to hide the sneer. She appreciated the courtesy but people weren’t her forte. She awkwardly set half of the tarts from her basket onto the counter and stood, waiting for what Elena had previously called a pretty penny. Neither women moved, both staring at one another in a lingered silence. That is, until, the shirtless wonder appeared to her right. 

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me.”

“Hello to you too, Pansy.” Charlie gave a wave. His eyes flicked to the tarts on the counter, then to the woman behind it. “Apologies for Ms Pansy here, Mrs Swallow. Ladies such as this one tend to have hired help for simple tasks such as delivering tarts.” He gave her a quick wink. “If you could add that to Elena’s account, we’d be much obliged.”

The woman, who she now knew as Mrs Swallow, nodded and took the tarts into her possession. Charlie guided Pansy from the bakery before she had a proper opportunity to argue.

“Get your hands off me, Charlie! I came here for payment.”

“Look, there is a way we do things here that-”

“What, _ muggle _ things?” Pansy half shrilled, she wasn’t particularly keen on being dragged out by the sleeve of her jumper. Charlie placed a hand over her mouth. 

“Mind keeping it down a bit with the muggle talk?”

Pansy jerked her arm from Charlie’s hold, who had lingered his touch longer than she might of liked. She hated to agree, but he may of had a point about calling muggles, well _ muggles, _ out loud.

“If you’re finished with the lectures, I’ll be off. Surely you have someone _ else _ in this blasted village to annoy!” 

He watched her struggle to pick up the bike, the basket still clinging on her arm. She jerked the bike to one side as she climbed onto it, pedaling unsteadily for a short time before running into a post box. She could hear Charlie laughing behind her, which only fueled her desire to flee faster. If only the laces of her trainers didn’t snag the front wheel. She groaned as she leant down to retrieve it from its tangled hold.

“Need a lift?” Charlie was standing over her, and Pansy dragged her eyes up to his face. His hands were on his hips, and he held a stupid grin. “I’ve got a truck.” He pointed to a rusted red pickup truck across the street at the meter. Pansy gave an audible huff.

“No, _ Charlie _, I don’t need a ride. I’m perfectly capable of getting back on my own.” Naturally, it was at this moment her body chose to fall on her bum when she attempted to push off again.

“Oh, sure. Looks like you have everything under control.” Charlie’s mockery did not go unnoticed. “You made it a whole two kilometers that time before falling.”

“Go _ away _, Charlie!”

“Do you always enjoy viewing the world from the ground up? Or is this your way of enjoying Romania’s sights?” 

Pansy had never imagined she would miss the nauseating pull of apparation as much as she did now. She swore she was growling at this point, but jerked the bike upright and walked alongside it, pulling it by the handle bars.

“Why am I not surprised you’d choose mockery over manners, Charlie? Is it so impossible to act like a gentleman? I’ve had quite enough of you for one day, thank you.”

“Impossible? Did I not just offer you a ride?” Pansy opened to rebut, but stumbled just enough for Charlie to continue. “I hadn’t realized ladies were taught to be so stubborn. Now, get in the truck.” He scooped the bike up with one hand and walked it over, tossing it in the back.

Pansy was left standing next to the sidewalk, stomping an untied trainer and holding the basket of remaining tarts.

“Give me back my bike!” Charlie had walked back over to Pansy, allowing her to shout and curse as he took the basket from her hands. She let out an exaggerated gasp, but before she was able to argue further Charlie had bent down and hauled her over his shoulder. 

Pansy kicked and flailed as he took her across the street, setting her down after opening the passenger door. She had her finger pointed at his face, shouting something about being a barbarian as he lowered her into the car by placing his hand over her face.

“Buckle up!” He said, leaning over and fastening her inside. Pansy crossed her arms and turned her face toward the window. She had her lip stuck out in the largest of pouts.

She eventually gave up though, watching the fields and mountains go by as Charlie drove her down the road. When he passed the drive to her uncle’s cottage, however, she spoke up again.

“So we can add kidnapper to your long list of disappointing traits, now?”

“Calm down. I figured you could use a break from muggle life.” The truck was bumpy, and Charlie’s arm flexed as he changed gears. Pansy wasn’t entirely sure what he had meant.

“I can’t use my wand, genius. They put a trace on it.” Charlie let out a booming laugh.

“Seriously? Well that explains a few things. Well, don’t worry. Once your uncle’s will comes in, they will likely remove it. It’s just a precaution.” He tucked off the main road, driving down an uneven path of dirt. After awhile, Pansy felt the calming sensation of wards.

“Where are we, Charlie?”

“Welcome to _ my _ domain. The Romanian Dragon Sanctuary.” As if on some sort of que, two dragons emerged over the hill in full flight, tumbling and flying together. Pansy’s eyes were wide. She hadn’t seen many dragons up close before. Sure her father had dealt with clients who carried dragon eggs through Knockturn, but that wasn’t something you generally spoke about, and she highly doubted Charlie would have been amused.

“Huh, so the beasts Elena mentioned. She meant dragons?”

“Actually no.” Charlie parked the truck next to an old white stucco building. “The sanctuary never came up in conversation.”

“Wait a second. So, you’re telling me these dragons are here yet no one in this area has seen them?” _ Muggles can’t be this stupid. _

“You felt the wards, right? Muggles can’t see them. In fact, similar wards were in place at the orchard before your uncle-” Charlie looked away. “Sorry.”

She chose to ignore Charlie’s insensitive slip, having a few questions of her own. “Have they flown over the orchard before?” 

“There are barriers where you’d be able to see them in parts but, we tend to keep a close watch on them.” Charlie clapped his hands together, tossed her a wink, then removed himself from the truck. Pansy followed suit, already knowing he wouldn’t open the door for her - the barbarian. 

“Charlie! You get my scones?” A handsome man with smooth dark skin and spiked hair approached them by the truck. He noticed Pansy for the first time and flashed a smile. “Well, forgive me. I did not know there was a beautiful woman present.”

“Charmed.” Pansy was, in fact, charmed and held out her hand for him to take. She flipped her hair, giving one of her signature moves she would pull back in London. “I’m Pansy.”

“Beautiful like the flower. I’m Noah. The pleasure is mine.” He kissed the hand she presented, and she cocked her head to give Charlie a smirk. To her surprise, he had a less than pleasant expression.

“Alright, alright. You’ve made your pleasantries.”

“Excuse me, Charles, but just because you haven’t a gentlemanly bone in your body doesn’t mean you can deny others to present theirs.” Pansy had crossed her arms, meeting Charlie’s blue eyes. She swallowed, the fire in his gaze setting flame to her stomach. She shook her head to ignore it, looking back over to Noah with a smile.

“It’s quite alright, Pansy. I have to be off anyway. New Chinese Firebolt litter just hatched. Just came up to get my scones Charlie promised.” Noah clapped his hands together expectantly. Charlie groaned, tossing his head back.

“I forgot the bloody scones.”

“I’ve got some extra tarts?” Pansy spoke up before she could stop herself, but was happy she did because the response was instantaneous.

“You are as lovely and giving as the sun in spring. Isn’t she, Charlie?” 

“Oh, sure, she’s a peach.” He accepted the box from Noah, who had taken a tart out for himself. “You sure you should be giving all of Elena’s tarts away?”

“If you must know, _ I _ made these.” Charlie’s eyebrows shot up.

“Did you now?”

“C’mon mates! Breakfast!” Noah flashed her a pleasant wink. Pansy could have blushed.

It was like she had opened the door to the heavens, dragon trainers and healers alike poured out of the building to taste Pansy’s tarts. She was starting to understand the appeal of Elena’s long days in the kitchen. She peered over to Charlie so she could boast from the attention, but he appeared indifferent overall. It wasn’t until the last of her tarts had been eaten did Charlie steal her away. 

He led her towards one of the nearby nests, hatchlings running and nipping at one another. Pansy nervously assessed the area, fearful of the mother’s unknown location.

“Don’t worry. These common welshes were imported so, no mama dragon to worry about.” Pansy ignored how he was able to read her mind. It was obviously due to his expertise in all things dragon and not at all because she reflected fear outwardly on her expression. 

He hopped down, allowing one of the green beasts to climb up his arm. He motioned for Pansy to follow. Pansy had quite literally hoped when Charlie had told her she would be around magic that she could stretch her arm with a wand. Playing with baby dragons was most certainly _ not _ the first thing she had considered. It was though, really cute perched up in Charlie’s arms, so she closed the distance between them.

“This little girl here is Vera. Her litter was rescued from poachers.” Pansy pet the dragon’s head and tickled it’s chin. “Careful with that! You don’t want to-”

The dragon sneezed, causing the tiniest of fire balls to cough out from the dragon’s mouth. Luckily for Pansy, the dragon had more manners than Charlie and had turned its head. It did snag her finger though. She winced, doing her best not to drop Vera to the ground. Charlie scooped her up and set her back down.

“Here, let me have a look at that.” He had tugged his wand, but the burn was minimal. Still, he held her hand firmly in his, inspecting the tip of her index finger. Pansy swallowed hard, feeling her bottom lip curl beneath her teeth as she watched Charlie attempt to nurse her back to health. He kissed her finger lightly, neither fully understanding it had happened until he dropped her hand and Pansy jerked back. “Should be fine, just a bit sensitive for a day or so.”

“So! Dragons. What sort of things does one do around here?” Pansy pinched her finger from holding it too long, causing a tiny sting to emerge. She immediately placed it in her mouth, sucking the pain away. She met Charlie’s gaze, remembering this same finger was just touched by his lips literally a moment before so she yanked it out, hoping Charlie didn’t see. He most certainly did. Grinning, he motioned to follow him further onto the grounds.

“There is a lot more I think you’d enjoy.” Charlie clearly had more faith in her likes and dislikes than she did, but she entertained him by following his steps into a wooded side of the sanctuary. After all, the feel of magic in the air was comforting.

He guided her through the grounds, showing her his favorite places and educating her on the different dragons they held at the sanctuary. She could tell he was truly passionate about his work, proud of the way the dragons responded to his touch and commands. Pansy stayed back overall, observing the red headed beast in his natural habitat. She was surprised when he offered to take her home, losing hours of the day to laughter and easy conversation. She hadn’t noticed the sun had began to descend until they made it back to the truck, climbing inside so he could drive to the cottage. 

It was a short drive, but Pansy didn’t miss the way her mouth refused to curl anywhere but upward. She waved goodnight to Charlie, then inside to Elena before climbing the stairs to her room and sinking into bed where her mattress screeched her to sleep.


	4. Chapter Four

“Do you _ ever _put on a shirt?”

It was a simple question, the man rarely ended a day in her presence with a shirt in tact. Today was no exception. She had found him near the Transylvanian Bites section of the orchard. Despite their name, they were some of the sweetest apples she had ever tasted. She felt the name was a bit overdone, but nevertheless, her growing love for these hybrid fruits allowed her criticism to dissolve. But Charlie, with the insanely bipolar weather changes in this country, took it upon himself to show up _ again _ without the proper attire. With his blatant disregard to her question altogether, Pansy felt the snarl her lip made to his back.

“I asked you a question, Charlie.” She released a huff, taking an exaggerated step forward, thankful for the trainers that clad her feet for balance, and tugged hard on his arm just below the shoulder. The results were not what she was expecting. 

Charlie was there, his breath hot and extremely close to her mouth, her skin rising from the feel of it in chilled bumps. She grew uneasy at the swift change in proximity and regretted ever stepping foot into the orchard at all. She gulped, chancing a look up into his bright blue eyes and suddenly the surrounding apples smeared and faded away. It was like the world was spinning around her, her hair whipping wildly behind her, Charlie’s breath replaced with the chilled breeze of the afternoon and then the ground gave way beneath her feet. She was convinced no shoe she wore would triumph these orchard floors. And Charlie, was laughing.

The sound wasn’t out of the ordinary, wasn’t exotic or special. It was just a laugh. But it was _ his _ laugh. That is when she realized he had picked her up. The world wasn’t spinning, _ she _ was, and the brief moment of affection for the redheaded fool had faded from her thoughts. 

“Put me down!”

It was as though the man felt indifferent for all things manners. To be frank, Charlie was one who disregarded a number of things, but Pansy ruled out trying to save the man now. He’d never be a proper gentleman. But, she was fairly certain that was perfectly fine with him.

“I said put me down you big buffoon!” She slapped at his chest, hoping the persistence in her voice would burst through the hardheadedness that was Charlie. It didn’t. He held her there, arms outstretched above him. She could only imagine what she looked like up there, dangling like a wind chime caught in the wind, her limbs swaying - or in this case flailing - and her head down. A romanticist would have reveled at the idea of being in a position such as this: lifted up by a strong - and incorrigible - man under a bright late morning sun in the middle of a colorful and scenic orchard. Pansy on the other hand, was starting to lose feeling in both of her arms, and her toes were cold. Not to mention how much she hated being so vulnerable.

“I will curse you back to London, Charlie, so help me!” The idiot’s smile never faltered from his face as Pansy struggled, trying to wiggle out of his hold. He finally lowered his arms, only to haul her over his right shoulder, and slapping her playfully once on the arse now facing upward in the air. Pansy let out a not so ladylike welp, her hands gripped to the belt of his pants on his lower back and outstretched in an attempt to keep the blood from running to her face. With every heavy step Charlie made, Pansy’s striped jumper slid further and further down, exposing her middle. She tried to kick her feet - because she was good at throwing wobblies- but Charlie had gripped both legs and secured them firmly to his chest. "Seriously? _Again_ with the shoulder thing? Does this actually work for you, you _barbarian_!"

“Are you quite finished?” 

“He speaks!” Pansy flailed her arms over her head in exaggeration, ignoring the fact her head occasionally bounced off his arse between steps. Charlie laughed. _ Again _. Because nothing adds to the aesthetic of his half-naked self like a fresh bushel of laughter. “Where are we going?”

Charlie shockingly didn't reply. Instead, he simply whistled an annoying upbeat tune to himself and occasionally skipped over fallen twigs or stones. Pansy literally just hung there like a hunk of meat being dragged to one of her carrier's dragons; a look of utter annoyance on every inch of her face. She gave up trying to talk to the man, who once again laughed through his puckered, whistling lips like the child he was.

Pansy eventually felt him tighten his grip in a light and quick squeeze, then bent forward so he could lower her. She slid easily over his shoulder, his hands grazing the sides of her knees, then her thighs, and stopping at her waist until she was standing and peering up in front of him. Her jumper had fallen back in place, covering Charlie's hands, her own lingered on his chest far longer than any gentleman would allow. _ Because this is clearly his fault _. If she had stood up on her toes, she was certain her lips would have been within kissing distance to his - not that she was paying that any mind of course. It was more of an observation than a desire, for that she was certain. But then she felt the puff of his breath when he let out a low rumbling chuckle and her knees buckled beneath her. 

“Bloody weather.” She cleared her throat and stepped back, rubbing away the chill that wasn’t actually there. Charlie didn’t appear to notice, and if he did, he didn’t say anything about it. Instead he just looked out in front of him with his hands on his hips, his bare chest stupidly majestic and illuminated with the sun shining an aura-like shimmer around him. His ridiculously vibrant hair gleamed and danced in the breeze. Pansy twitched an eyebrow upward, one hand tugging the sleeve of her sweater while the other tugged on her earlobe.

“You’re doing it again.” Charlie didn’t shift his eyes to look at her, he apparently didn’t need to if his tone said anything about it. 

“Doing _ it _ ?” Pansy dropped her hand immediately. She knew what he meant, but she’d be damned if she ever admitted it. They _ had _ been spending an insufferable amount of time together over the past two weeks. Charlie turned to her then, his smile growing wider when their eyes met. Pansy blamed an invisible cold again. 

“The ear thing.” He turned his body to face her. “Yeah, you tug on your ear when you’re feeling off.” The touch of his calloused thumb and rough fingers on the soft flesh of her ear damn near caused her to slip and roll down the hill. When she only stared at him, mouth slightly ajar and her eyes vacant, Charlie freed her from the trance by peering down and kicking off his shoes.

“First the shirt, now the bloody shoes? Is it really so difficult to keep your clothes on?” Pansy crossed her arms.

“Is it so difficult for you to talk about your flaws?” Pansy scoffed. Pansy had no flaws.

“To be fair, I had started this conversation with a question - _several_ in fact - and you chose to ignore me first!”

“Fair enough.” Charlie shrugged, and Pansy did not miss the way his shoulders flexed. She licked her lips. _ Damn him. _ “I despise shirts. Working with dragons tend to shy you away from wearing anything that can infuse into your skin.” He sat down, resting his freckled arms atop his knees and locking his wrist in a hold. It was his abs that flexed this time, and Pansy pushed out her lip in a pout, pretending to look away. “And I’ve taken you to the best spot in all of Romania. At least in my opinion.”

Pansy finally pulled her eyes from Charlie and scanned her surroundings. Her arms slowly slid down over her stomach and back to her sides, and she clutched the sleeves of her jumper with both hands. They were on top of the world. Charlie had picked her up and carried her off like a barbarian to the most open yet secluded place she had ever seen.

“What makes this place so special?” Pansy knew how stupid she sounded when she asked it. It had been happening more and more when in Charlie’s presence. She’s losing her edge and she isn’t entirely sure how to get it back - or if she even wanted to.

“This is Parkinson Peak.”

Pansy’s eyes snapped to Charlie in an instant, her mouth once again falling open. Charlie laid down over the soft carpet of clovers, crossing his bare feet at the ankles. He was peering up at the sky, resting his head atop his palms. Pansy stared at him, waiting for him to continue and at least provide details, but he didn’t. She shouldn’t have been surprised anymore, but he still managed to get under her skin.

“Come again?” Pansy asked, ensuring the irritation was provided in her tone. “Go on.”

“No, that’s the name. Just - Parkinson Peak.”

Pansy let out a wild grown of aggravation that echoed out into the air around them, fading in the same disapproving emphasis than when it started. She stomped her foot, once again prepping the tantrum she perfected over the years in order to gain results. She should have known Charlie would be unphased. None of her outbursts had worked on him before, but perhaps her own stubbornness refused to relent to his, accepting an unproclaimed challenge. She pinched the bridge of her nose, refusing the urge to satisfy his smugness by pulling her ear. 

“Yes I gathered that, thanks.” She plopped down on the ground beside him and hugged her knees. “But I’m assuming you of all people would know why it is called Parkinson Peak?”

He didn’t answer her, but a smile crept over his lips. Pansy gulped, never wanting to discover them quite so much as she did in that moment. She bit her own lips instead. With eyes still set to the sky, Charlie adjusted himself and removed his hands so his head lay on the pillow soft clovers underneath. He rested his hands on his stomach.

“These are still your uncle’s lands.”

Pansy’s shoulders dropped. 

“That’s it? How… anticlimactic.” She laid back then, one hand at her side while the other teased at her hair. She peered up at the clouds. Charlie let out a breathy laugh, the sound of it causing Pansy to gnaw harder on her lip. She missed her earlobe.

“No, that’s not _ it. _ But that _ is _ the set up.” She felt his eyes on her and for a brief moment, they caught the other’s gaze. Neither held it, both jerking their faces back toward the sky. “Perseus proposed to Elena up here. So, seeing how they were the village’s most loved couple, this place sort of adopted the name. I suppose it means more now that he’s gone.”

Pansy turned her head to Charlie, but his focus stayed upward. Her features fell, caught somewhere between romance and tragedy at the start and end of Charlie’s statement. Her hatred for the woman, Elena, had faded over the past several days, and though she was never one to involve herself in such fluffy messes, she found she couldn’t deny the appreciation of the peak’s origin.

“So that means something to the people here? Just two people agreeing to be married?”

“No, it’s more than that.” Charlie’s tone, for the first time since she’d met him, grew serious. Almost holding this new heartfelt depth. It made Pansy uneasy, and she gave up her internal fight to resist her tick any longer, rolling to her side to prop herself on one arm, the other on her ear. “It was an unspoken union between two worlds. There are an abundance of both magical and muggle folks here, Pansy. And when Perseus chose to continue his use of magic under limited muggle restrictions, it really set a new perspective. Especially to us over at the sanctuary.”

Pansy was intrigued, quirking an eyebrow and dropping her hand. She fidgeted with the clovers. 

“How so?”

Charlie sat up then too, mirroring Pansy’s position. She pretended to ignore how close they were.

“He raised the bar by lowering the fear. By demonstrating how easy it was to balance magic in his daily routine amongst muggles all whilst maintaining the integrity of both communities, it really put a lot of us in our place.”

Pansy was floored. The only thing she hated about her uncle that impacted her so negatively, was the very thing that had such a positive impact on not one, but two whole communities. She could have laughed had her jaw not been already clenched from the shock of it. How ironic it all was - Pansy’s favorite person of her youth collided with the very thing she went to war against and fought so assuredly to prevent.

“You okay over there?”

Pansy blinked, her eyes catching Charlie’s and causing the whirlwind of emotions to subside. It startled her, the way his gaze held no judgement - only compassion; honesty - and it created a rush within her. The look had been lost to her for so long, an older man’s smile and eyes molded into the deepest of blue. Her Uncle Persues was the only person she knew to hold the truth in his eyes, and seeing it now in Charlie did something to her she couldn’t quite explain. She hadn’t realized how long she had missed it.

“Y-yeah.” She lied, finding herself conflicted, wondering if he’d look at her so openly if he knew what she had done in her past. Charlie was the type of person who would accept anyone, perhaps that was why he was so close with her uncle all those years. In a way, she was thankful he was there for him, and for Elena. She debated returning the gaze, perhaps even opening up as he had over the course of the week and a half, but she didn’t have the chance.

“There they are, the buggers!” Charlie was looking up toward the sky again, pointing at a distant spec amongst the clouds. Pansy turned her focus upward, squinting to see what he was talking about.

“What am I looking at?” Pansy’s tone fell back to her typical persona easily, peering up unamused. She really was good at wearing a mask if her pride would permit it. She began to question if that was such a good thing after all.

“It’s training day!” He looked at her with an expression assuming she bloody knew what training day meant. 

“And?”

“For the adolescents. We let them out to fly twice a week to build their strength up.”

Pansy stared blankly, almost embarrassed at how long it took her to realize what he meant.

“Oh, dragons! You’re talking about dragons now.”

“It happens from time to time.” Charlie gave a playful wink in her direction. She cleared her throat.

“Shouldn’t you be up there? Or.. something?” She had to pull her face away from Charlie, a smirk forming on her lips. She’d be damned if he caught her actually enjoying the playful banter after all the hell she gave him leading up to this about it. 

There was a shuffle behind her, a sudden shift in movement. It didn’t take a genius to know Charlie had sat up, the shirtless wanker hovering just behind her. The smirk across her lips expanded without her permission, a full length smile and a nibble of her cheek she was unable to stop from happening. 

Without instruction to her body, Pansy turned to face him, Charlie sitting there with his exposed chest and freckled shoulders. She no longer knew if she was smiling or frowning or doing _ anything _for that matter. She was partly overwhelmed with his face so close to hers but also equally annoyed he hadn’t answered her question.

“Would you rather me be up there?” Charlie placed a calloused finger under her chin, guiding her face to his. Pansy’s eyes fluttered closed, the anticipation damn near blinding her. Their lips met, slowly at first, his lips chapped in places yet held a tenderness to them she’d never felt before. 

It was too much and not enough at all, Pansy taking that moment to push back, intensifying the way their lips moved. She opened her mouth, allowing his tongue access to hers as his hands slid down the sides of her arms, pulling her up onto his lap. Their movements never swayed, even through the change in positions did their mouths stay together, the heat of their connection rising in both of them, pushing away the chill in the air.

His arms had wrapped themselves around her middle, her hands were on his chest. Pansy’s nails lightly grazed his skin as they parted, Charlie giving a light peck on her nose, then rested his forehead to hers. Her nails still played with his chest, guiding circles with her fingers. She let out a laugh in spite of herself, airy and light. Charlie leaned back to catch her eyes.

“I don’t mind your lack of attire so much anymore.” Charlie let out a booming laugh, one that echoed off the peak and rolled down the hills. He trapped her lips into another kiss, Pansy losing herself again in his embrace. They stayed up there together until the sun began to set.


	5. Chapter Five

The following morning, a man she didn’t recognize greeted Pansy as she came down the stairs. Elena and Charlie were there, seated together in the sitting room. Pansy hadn’t quite dressed for the day, so seeing the man she snogged so heavily the night before whilst in her night jumper and jammies wasn’t exactly the ideal way to start her day.

“Ah, Ms Pansy Parkinson I presume. I’m-” 

Pansy held up a hand to the stranger, uninterested in a word he had to say until she was properly dressed. She turned full circle and walked calmly back up the stairs to change, the worn in floor creaking in protest at every third step or so. 

Upstairs, Pansy threw on a fresh jumper and jeans, slipping on a flat pair of white trainers to her feet. She longed for the use of her wand. Her hair was amiss, and her back ached from the lumps in the mattress. And what she wouldn’t do for a beauty charm or two. She rubbed the sleep from her eyes and powdered her nose, pinching her cheeks to add a bit of color to her otherwise pale face. Though unsatisfied with the reflection in the mirror, she scampered back down the stairs all the same. 

She was once again greeted by the stranger, this time presenting his hand in a gentlemanly bow. She side-eyed Charlie, hoping he was taking notes.

“Ms Parkinson, my name is Edgar Marsch.”

“And?” Pansy sat down on one of the cushions next to Charlie, who gave her a wink. He leant forward to whisper in her ear.

“He’s the lawyer to discuss your uncle’s wishes.” Pansy gave a light jolt from the tickling of Charlie’s breath. He was closer than he needed to be, not to mention it was public news, so sneaking a closeup to brush her neck with his lips was just a tease. She playfully shoved his face back with her hand, her eyes flicking up to the lawyer in front of her.

He was a short man and appeared to have dipped into far too many of Elena’s apple tarts. His suit was seemingly a size too small, his coat buttons stretching their last breath, seeming to pop off at any moment. Pansy held up a protective hand.

“Mr Mars, I-”

“Marsch, Ms Parkinson.” He interrupted in a rush. Sweat had formed on his brow, and he removed a handkerchief from his coat pocket. Pansy ducked just in case the tug of the fabric caused the final blow to immense. 

“Yes, I don’t particularly _ care _ . If you are here to discuss my late uncle’s will,” Pansy paused, infusing her words with her signature venum. “Then why for heaven’s sake has it taken you a full two _ weeks _ to show up here?” Her voice elevated as her words progressed, but it didn’t phase her. She knew her coming here would be a process to work out the details of her uncle’s will, but she never anticipated it would take half a month to merely start the process altogether.

“Well, you see I-”

“No.” Pansy held up a hand for the second time, cutting the man off again. The sweat was really coming in now, and Elena leaned over the glass top coffee table to offer a second handkerchief. “Your excuses on the matter are irrelevant in which case unimportant. Whatever your original settlement with my uncle was, we will need to re-negotiate it based on your tardiness alone. Now, have a seat so we can get started.” 

She peered over to see Charlie and Elena stunned, staring at her with two sets of wide eyes. Pansy rolled hers, they clearly underestimated her keen sense of business savvy, which to be fair she never had to express until now. Despite the lack of emotions in the Parkinson Estate, there was never a shortage of elite lectures on how to properly talk yourself into more money, nor was there ever a night in which Pansy didn’t hear her father shouting without actually shouting, manipulating people to do his bidding. Her father wasn’t a lot of things, but he was one cutthroat businessman.

Pansy crossed her legs, motioning for the man to start. He began his focus on Elena, the impact of his words making it difficult for even Pansy to hold her flame as the last wishes of Perseus Parkinson were laid out openly in front of them. He’d left her their home, the cottage in which they currently sat, the four of them cramped and huddled. Speckles of dust made Pansy’s nose twitch, no doubt from the stacks of books and cluttered shelves. There were no mention of children, and Pansy couldn’t help but wonder why they had chosen not to expand their family. 

The fat man, Mr Marsch, turned his perspiring and clammy face in her direction, causing her nose to scrunch and her brow to furrow. It really was difficult to stay focused when the only running this man had ever came in contact with was the very sweat that dripped from his nose.

_ “To my niece, Ms Pansy Joelle Parkinson-” _

The man was once again interrupted mid sentence, but this time Pansy was not the one to be blamed. Instead, Charlie had burst into a booming laugh, one that rose from his chest. Pansy hadn’t the slightest idea what had gotten over him, but found the sound to be infectious just the same. That is, until, she discovered the reason for the outburst.

“Pansy Joelle?” 

Surely Charlie hadn’t the audacity to insult her name. 

“Excuse me?”

“Apologies, _ PJ _. I daresay the interruption won’t happen again.”

Pansy fumed where she sat, her nostrils flaring at the hideous appellation. She could feel the twitch in her eye as she slapped him hard on the chest.

“_ This _, we will continue later.”

“Whatever you say, _ PJ _.”

“Stop it!” Pansy let out a frustrated noise somewhere between a growl and a moan. She flicked her eyes back to Mr Marsch, who she was certain would have waddled away if he could. “You were saying?”

The man cleared his throat, dabbing at his forehead. He held up the papers to continue reading:

_ “To my niece, Pansy Joelle Parkinson, I leave you the deed to the grounds surrounding the cottage. This, of course, includes the orchards and all the apples within the property lines. I hope you fall in love with them as I had, and I pray you get along with your Aunt Elena and the boys over at the sanctuary. Should you ever need anything Charlie and the gang will surely be there for you as they had always been for me. I love you my darling girl. I’ve thought about you every day until my last. But since your father’s decision, I’d ventured to Romania to respect his wishes. I’ve always cherished our time together. I am grieved I couldn’t be there to show you the grounds myself for the first time.” _

At some point during the fat man’s reading, Charlie had snaked his arms around Pansy’s shoulders, holding her as she wept. It wasn’t ideal, her vulnerability on full display in front of not one but _ three _people, but there she was. Not only was Pansy a notoriously ugly crier, she was the loudest - just another reason she preferred the privacy during such situations. 

Unfortunately for Pansy, it was too late for her now; she couldn’t even pinpoint the _ exact _ moment it all started! She had gotten lost in the fact her uncle entrusted her with not only his lands and livelihood, but almost everything he held dear. She let out this loud and snotty sniffle, followed by an almost unnatural sequence of weeps, too committed in her crying to stop now. Her eyes were already swollen, and she hid them behind her jumper just as Charlie gave her a squeeze. If she looked and sounded as ridiculous as she felt, he never pointed it out to her. He was just _ there _ \- those comforting strong freckled arms enveloping her while she leant back on his chest. Between her uncontrollable sobs, she could have sworn she could hear his heartbeat, if only for a moment.

It was unfortunate she hadn’t considered staying in Romania longer than what was necessary, although the part about her father’s betrayal troubled her. She had always known her uncle to be an honest man at best, so surely he wouldn’t lie about something so significant. Wills are last testaments, final chances to release the deepest of regrets or behaviours. And yet, there it was clear as day. Her uncle didn’t abandon her, he was forced out. Unfortunately, the whole damned thing made too much sense.

Elena had poured some tea, filling an equal amount into the four matching cups on the tray. Pansy had wiped at her eyes, calming her sniffles and fairly certain she ruined the sleeves of her jumper, but reached for one of the small porcelain cups just the same. She ignored the chip at the base and took a sip in an attempt to calm her nerves.

_ “To my dearest friend, Charles Septemus Weasley-” _

Mr Marsch was once again interrupted by the addressed party. It wasn’t entirely Pansy’s intention this time, but the horrifying revelation to Charlie’s surname caused her to choke on the hot liquid she had just consumed.

Pansy typically prided herself on the mannerisms she possessed as a lady, however they were lost on her for a _ third _time that day. Despite her best efforts, she spat her tea from her mouth, sending sprayed droplets of earl grey into numerous directions in front of her. Mr Marcsh, already finding the irritation from the countless interruptions, soon found himself drowned under not only a layer of his own perspiration, but now had the added layer of Pansy’s resurfaced tea.

He sat across her, eyes shut and mouth agape, clearly from surprise. Elena had once again pulled another handkerchief from somewhere out of the air. Pansy was certain she kept extras for this man’s glands alone, and presented it to him. He grabbed it with haste, dabbing at his face as though it would actually make a difference all whilst clearing his throat - _ again. _

During this time Charlie had sat back, watching Pansy’s reaction with a quizzical look in his eye. She could feel him there - his eyes on her - but she couldn’t look back at him. Moments rushed to the forefront of her mind, moments such as realization to the fact he’d never look at her the same way again once he’d seen her for who she was; for what she had done. It was ages ago now, some five years, but the shock of it never truly dissolved. She had teased his brother, his sister, and tried to out his family’s own personal hero. Shit. 

Unable to sit any longer, Pansy rose abruptly. Charlie reached for her, Elena gripped her apron, and Mr Marsch almost toppled over in his chair from surprise. It was a miracle he hadn’t, otherwise the old wizard would have taken up the entirety of their afternoon to scoop him up from the floor, and Pansy had to get out of there.

She fled, not waiting to hear the remaining contents of the will. She no longer needed to. Or at least she so gathered. She ran out through the kitchen, swinging open the lower half of the dutch door. Pansy just ran. Around the house, down the steps, and towards the orchard where she could be alone. It was all too much. She could hear Elena calling to her, but couldn’t find the strength in her legs to turn back. She just kept running.

What _ should _have been thoughts of her uncle’s words and the new responsibilities he bestowed on her turned out to be images of Charlie instead. And she hated him for it. She’d never truly understood how to open up about her feelings, perhaps that's why she constantly found herself fleeing from them. Charlie was no different. Weasley’s don’t mesh well with Parkinsons if Hogwarts and the war had anything to say about it. No, she hid out amongst the trees until he would leave. 

It would have been a solid plan had she not felt sick over the loss of one of the Princess P trees nearby. The apples had fallen and she thought back to her second day on these blasted grounds - the day Charlie tossed her the apple after her namesake - like he _ knew _ her. Damn him. 

“Come on, Uncle Perseus. What is your secret?”

She perched herself beneath the barren tree on the ground amongst the few withered apple blossoms, trying her damnedest to focus on her uncle’s magical presence. The air was chilly, and she tucked her legs under her jumper, tears forming in her eyes. If she couldn’t keep her uncle’s legacy alive, what good was her presence there. She needed to think of something.

🍎 🍎 🍎

Later that day, after she was sure the fat wizard with the name and title she couldn’t remember had gone, she made her way back up toward the cottage. Once inside, her focus made its way to the small unopened letter on the table addressed to her. The script was all too familiar, and it caused a snarl to erupt from her throat - it was from her father. She opened the letter, reading his request - no, his _ demand _ \- on her immediate arrival to return home. Her presence was required for an upcoming gala they were hosting for the London elites. She rolled her eyes, tossing the letter back onto the table. If she were to make the gala and follow her father’s demands, she would have to leave for London the following day. Her father never was one to respect her time. She would worry about that later. 

She hadn’t been able to come up with a single solution to the problem in the magical side of the orchard, and she was fairly certain she was falling for Charlie. She hated Romania. Maybe it was time for her to make her way back home.

Elena was upstairs in her room, rummaging through told papers. She turned when the hall made herself known and rushed to Pansy, giving her a rather large - and uncomfortable - squeeze. Pansy stiffened.

“Pansy are you alright! You ran off so suddenly! I wanted to come after you but, Mr Marsch said he needed me to stay as posing witness and I panicked. All this magic stuff still frightens me. I don’t want to mess things up for you. Damn that fat man!”

Pansy let out a rather unladylike snort. That was the first time she had heard Elena curse and furthermore insult someone. She was oddly proud, nodding her head in approval.

“It’s fine, _ I’m _ fine. I just-” she pulled back enough to look at her better. “I just felt like I was unworthy to be there.” She swallowed back the ugly sob she knew was coming.

“Oh, Pansy. You are most deserving of this place.” She embraced Pansy again, and this time she relaxed into the hold. She imagined this is what it would have been like to grow up with an aunt at all - hugs, support, sharing a distaste for sweaty old fat wizards. “I do hope you consider your uncle’s will. I know I’m not much in comparison to what you are used to but, I want us to be a family.”

“I blamed you, you know.” Pansy said mostly to herself. Elena furrowed her brow and sat back. Her kind face was still just as sweet, and she gave Pansy’s forearms a light squeeze. 

“I suppose this has to do with him leaving you, yes?” Pansy’s eyes were blinking excessively, the pain of the memory all too familiar. Her chin was quivering as she nodded a response to Elena, fearful had she used words, she would actually cry. “It must have been so hard for a child. But know it hurt your Uncle Perseus so much to know he couldn’t even say goodbye.”

“Then what happened? The will said my father had something to do with him leaving. But that wasn’t what I was told.” 

“Have you read anymore of your uncle’s journal?” Pansy thought it was an odd question considering she asked one of her own, but she shook her head. She hadn’t read much of it since the following day she received it and it rested in her room inside the satchel for days. “I think the answers to what you are looking for are within those pages.” 

Pansy’s expression was that of utter confusion. Elena sounded more magical than she could have ever realized. Dumbledork would have been proud in her cryptic tellings. Elena gave another comforting squeeze before releasing Pansy altogether. 

“Thank you, Aunt Elena. I really appreciate you taking me in while we get everything settled with the will and estate.”She turned without another word, feeling the warmth of Elena’s smile behind her.

Upstairs, Pansy rummaged through her things in order to look for the satchel. It was partially hidden under the shadow of the bed frame, spilled open on the floor. She scooped it up and sat on the side of the bed, ignoring the scream in the springs in protest. Her uncle’s journal was filled with memories of the two of them at first, the pages she had read when she first obtained the book. But as the pages went on, they began more minimal and direct, almost as though he was building up a presentation over writing down his thoughts.

True to his fashion, she heard a muffled yet familiar tone on her stairs, a mumbling Charlie walking up and knocking on her door. Pansy froze, hoping by her staying quiet he would just go away. The mattress, unfortunately, gave away her position, and Charlie took it upon himself to enter without permission.

“Hey. Elena said you were up here” 

“Where else would I be?” Pansy returned her attention to the journal in her hands, trying to decipher what these formal passages meant. Nothing made sense, worse still, neither did the blank page she eventually flipped to. “Ugh great. There is absolutely _ nothing _ here.”

Pansy felt the bed sag and squeal beside her as Charlie sat down next to her - again without permission. He was trying to read over her shoulder. “What’s got you so frustrated, Princess?”

“First Elena with her enigmatic messages, now my uncle and his stupid ambiguous journal. I’m clearly missing something.” 

Charlie shifted beside her, and she drug her eyes up cautiously to meet his. He was studying her as hard as she was studying the journal and she swallowed under his scrutiny. “_ What_?”

“So, you ran out earlier today because of the journal?”

“Listen, Weasel-con, I’m just trying to figure out why my uncle left. I don’t have time to deal with you right now.” She hadn’t realized the jab at his surname even happened until she found herself staring down as blankly as the page in front of her. Charlie was silent beside her. 

“Okay.” He said finally, standing up. “I’ll leave you to it.”

She could hear the sound of the stairs under his steps, the heavy stomps he made in his boots. But something caught her eye. The page, though seemingly still as blank as it always was, shimmered along the edges, Pansy’s fingers sticking slightly to the paper. When she reached for her wand to reveal the possible hidden words, her shoulders sagged in frustration. Pansy still couldn’t use her wand, but… “_ Charlie, wait!” _

She jolted down the stairs after Charlie. He was about to walk out the door when she called his name. He was standing in the door frame facing her by the time she had caught up to him.

“Can I help you, _ Parkinson _?”

It was the first time he’d called her by her surname and it stung more than she thought it would, or perhaps more than it should at all. She swallowed, her eyes directed to the floor as she tugged hard on her earlobe.

“I need your help, Charlie.” He crossed his arms in both mockery and amusement.

“Do you now?” 

“Yes. I can’t do this without magic.”

“Ah, there it is. So it isn’t _ me _ you need. Just my wand.” Pansy tried to ignore the way he emphasized _ wand _, but she rolled her eyes.

“In my uncle’s journal. I think I found it. Or part of it? I found _ something _.” She hated how desperate she sounded to him, but if anyone could help her recover whatever it was she was recovering, it was Charlie.

“Fine, but only because Perseus would have wanted me to.” Pansy was surprised when Charlie started back up the stairs without further convincing. She was ready to throw down on her knees and he spared her the humiliation, or perhaps he was just a genuinely caring person. She shoved it down, rushing back to her room.

Charlie was already seated on the bed, she heard that halfway up, journal in hand and presenting his wand to the page. He peered up when she pushed through the door.

“Nothing is happening.” He lowered his wand, handing her the journal.

“Well, you’re clearly doing it _ wrong _.” She tried to reach for his wand but he held it out of her reach. Pansy pouted, stretching her arm in an attempt to snag if from his hand. “Charles Weasley! Give me your wand!”

Charlie purposely laid down on his back, the screeching and screaming of the bed drowning out any further curses of his name. He was laughing as the mattress sagged, rolling a flailing limbed Pansy to the center of the bed, or more specifically on top of one Charlie Weasley. He was still holding the wand up, his long arms flexing to where Pansy’s weren’t tall enough to grab as she made numerous failed attempts to flip and roll off of him _ and _ the bed altogether. Nothing was working, and she eventually just laid there, her cheek pressed against his chest, mouth smushed half opened. She really did hate this man.

“You didn’t say please.” Pansy let out an unladylike growl, shoving her weight up with both palms pressed firmly on his chest. She caught his eyes through her fallen hair, the black locks sticking out in numerous directions from where the static took hold.

“You’ve _ got _ to be kidding me. You choose _ now _of all times to have manners?”

Charlie was laughing, taking his free hand to Pansy’s hair in an attempt to smooth it down before cupping the back of her head. He met her halfway, their lips brushing and Pansy once again collapsing against Charlie’s chest. 

She wanted to pull away - she _ should _ pull away - but the man was relentless, and the feel of his arms securely around her back and rubbing circles through the jumper was just more satisfying than _ not _ having him do that. That is, until, she felt the hardened wood of what she desired most, her eyes flashing open in surprise. She smirked against his mouth, wrapping her fingers slowly around and yanked his wand from his hand. 

“HA!”

Pansy, for a third time, scrambled to get up and off of Charlie. Though proving as equally difficult, she was able to swish Charlie’s wand to cast a cushioning spell to the otherwise insufferable mattress, allowing it to fall flat as it should on the bed frame. She stood abruptly, fanning her hair and smoothing her clothes and ran to the journal as Charlie slowly sat up to her right, a laugh still present on his lips.

“Well played.”

“Shh. I’m thinking.” She interrupted, focusing his wand on the blank page. Like Charlie, however, the revealing spell didn’t work. She dropped her shoulders and the journal. “Damn!”

“Told you.”

Running her hands through her hair, she growled and moaned and quite literally stomped her foot on the floor. This caused the journal’s page to turn on its own, the vibrations underneath shifting the page to fall back to the previous entry. Pansy paused, reading the passage to herself.

“Oh.. I’m such a _ dunce! _” Pansy scooped up the journal again with a newfound high, touching the wand to the page. 

“You’re no head girl, but there’s no reason to-”

“Occulta Revelare” Pansy interrupted, allowing the wand to loosely move in her hand. She painted the air with the curve of her wrist, an intricate outline of the castle from her dreams. Lavender smoke snaked from the tip of the wand, a noble steed dorned in ribbons materializing under a thin outline of glittered haze. Charlie sat back in amusement as Pansy sat on her heels, smiling a smile only familiar to her youth as distant echoed sound of the pony galloped its way toward the empty page on the journal. Once the steed collided with the shimmer of the hidden text, the page came alive, revealing not one countless pages of scripture.

Charlie slid off the bed and scooted next to Pansy, the two of them peering down at the journal together in awe. 

“What… was that?” He asked, taking his wand back into his possession. Pansy let out an airy laugh beside him, resting her head on his shoulder with a sigh.

“He remembered.” She could feel the joys of that spell coming back to her, the many times her uncle and her shared secrets of castles and mystical worlds. Her eyes were far from dry, a layer of glistening tears threatening to fall. She was smiling though, and she felt the weight of Charlie against her head.

“I’m hoping you aren’t planning on leaving me too much in the dark seeing how it was my wand that made the spell possible.” She playfully slapped his chest and he released a smirk. 

“You’re always such a git, Charlie.” She raised her head, lifting the journal to her lap. “It was his spell, well, _ our _ spell. What good was a rescue without secrets carried on a noble steed?” 

“And now, we see what those secrets are, yeah?” He nudged his head towards the journal and the two dived in, reading the pages aloud.

_ “Princess - _

_ If you are reading this, then you truly never stopped being my little princess. Despite the many obstacles to keep us apart, you have always been my little girl, our love growing with the miles and years between us. I hope you aren’t too terribly angry with me. My leaving was not on my own accord, but now that I am gone you deserve to know that I had intended on taking you with me. Threat of war and dark lords rumoured London, and I had means to get you away from all of that. It was your father, my own brother, who vetoed my proposition to help, claiming your status would more than keep you out of harm’s way…..” _

Pansy read on, her eyes growing heavier with the weight of tears with every word. Charlie held her shoulders, keeping her from collapsing as she read the many paragraphs of her uncle’s writing. He covered everything, from before the first wizarding war to her time at Hogwarts, he was never farther than she thought he was, even going so far as to aiding Charlie with his trip back for the battle her seventh year. 

The two of them sat in silence, on the floor of the attic room, surrounded by what her uncle described in his letter as a room fit for a princess - it explained the decor or castles on the wall, and the balcony at the opposing side. When they came towards the end of the letter, her Uncle Perseus revealed incantations and formulas, movement calculations for wands and an emphasis on one similar topic - his apples.

“Charlie! We found it!” Pansy squealed in newfound delight, facing Charlie and entwining her fingers into his. She stood up, egging him to follow and began to head toward the door. He stood behind her with both feet firmly on the ground, the distance caused a tug on her arm, pulling her attention back to his face. “Come on! We can finally save the orchard!”

“You really want me to go with you?” Pansy wasn’t sure where this was coming from but she nodded her head, one side curling up in an awkward comforting smile.

“Of course I do. I need you.”

“You need my wand you mean.” Pansy’s shoulders sagged, her fingers still entangled with his and they hung between them. Charlie reached into the pocket of his jeans with his other hand, removing a parchment and handing it to Pansy. She raised an eyebrow.

“What’s this?” She dropped his hand, but only to open and read the contents of the letter. The Romanian’s International Statute of Secrecy seal marked the bottom of the page, and the contents above it reflected the release of Pansy’s trace and the permit to have full access to her wand without interruption. “How long have you had this?”

“Mr Marsch had it ready for you, but you ran off before he could present it.” 

“So, you’re telling me I could have been using my wand _ all day? _ ” Pansy pinched the bridge of her nose. She wasn’t sure who she was more angry at. Charlie for not telling her when she practically begged for his help with the journal - his quick turnaround made sense now - or herself for running from her feelings. _ Again. _ “You know what? We don’t have time for this. Let’s just go to the orchard.” She took his hand again.

“You still want me to come?” 

Pansy wasn’t entirely sure what had come over her, but she squeezed the redhead's hand in hers. 

“I told you.” She took a step closer, placing a gentle kiss upon his cheek. “I need you.


	6. Chapter Six

Once their feet carried them to the magical side of the orchard, Pansy opened the journal to her uncle’s hidden incantations. Charlie had cast a  _ lumos _ , offering enough light so Pansy could call out and maneuver her wand where needed. It didn’t seem too particularly complicated overall, however, her uncle was cunning, so she wasn’t too terribly surprised to see her hand shake from nerves. 

Pansy cleared her throat, standing in the center between the Princess P’s and the Romanian Sunshines, raising her wand. Charlie gave her a reassuring nod, winking once to help ease the tension. It didn’t help of course, his wink resulted in her rolling her eyes out of habit. But, she couldn’t deny the fact his presence was a comforting one, even over her nerves and his flirtatious behaviours.

She focused her attention on the open book in her hand and refocused her wand. With a shaky breath, she attempted the movements first, practicing the motions her uncle had laid out for her. Her nerves were justified, the combination of the movements with the spells proving to be layered with complexity after all. Pansy took a breath, not wanting to fail her uncle now, not when she was this close. After a few more moments of practicing in a studious silence, she felt a little more confident in what she needed to do, turning to Charlie with a nod. 

“I think I’m ready.”

“You sure? Autumns almost over, you nearly missed the harvest.” 

“Shut up, you git. Just have your wand ready.” 

Her wrist moved, the fluent transitions as her wand became an extension of her arm itself, the words of the incantations emerging from her lips. Magic burst through the tip of her willow wand, causing Pansy’s arm to shake at the power behind it. She began to slowly pace the aisles of trees, allowing the spell to engulf the colored leaves and thinning branches. Each tree she passed shone bronze-like in color, the apples glowing a blinding bright yellow. The ground beneath her combat booted feet vibrated lightly, the roots shifting beneath earth. She no longer needed the  _ lumos _ on Charlie’s wand, the light of the spell overpowering the darkness of the quickening evening sky.

Pansy began to wane, her arm growing tired and stiff. The muscles in her body strained, her voice weakening, the excessive use of such a complex incantation taking its toll. She hadn’t noticed Charlie’s hand on her back, supporting her while she neared the end of the spell. She wanted to smile, but her body was drained, collapsing her arm as the final tree was touched with the magic from her wand. She involuntarily leaned into him for support before her body could slump completely. She was thankful for the strength in his hold. 

“Now what?” Pansy looked out at the almost bare trees.

“Now we wait to see if it worked. We should know by tomorrow morning.” 

“I suppose I could check it again before I leave tomorrow.” 

She was almost asleep when she spoke, feeling her body being lifted as Charlie carried her to the cottage. She was sure Charlie was speaking to her, but she was entirely too drained to pay him any mind, her thoughts drifting off to a castle on a hill, the redhead riding up on a polished silver steed with apple printed bows and cinnamon in its full curly mane. Charlie was riding with an open and exposed chest, no armor comparing to the abs he dorned. 

Pansy was reaching out for her knight, feeling the warmth of his skin and the comfort in his arms. That was when she awoke to the sunlight peering in from one of the small windows, the bed, for once, feeling soft beneath her as she blinked open her eyes. She stretched, feeling the softness of Charlie’s chest beside her above the covers. Her smile faded.

“Charlie!” She screamed, tugging the blankets up to her chin, not even noticing she still wore the same jumper and jeans combination from the previous day, and cause Charlie to jump and stumble onto the floor in surprise. Charlie’s arm came into view as he pulled himself from the floor, wiping the sleep from his eyes, a yawn on his lips.

“What the hell woman?”

“What are you doing in my room?” She was still pulling up the blankets to cover herself, though at this point she finally realized it wasn’t necessary. 

“You told me to stay!” Charlie removed himself from the floor and cracked his neck from sitting up all night in the bed. Perhaps he  _ did _ have some gentleman-like qualities after all. 

“Oh.” Pansy dragged her hands through her wild mess of hair atop her head, and ignored her reflection in the mirror of the previous night’s makeup smeared on her face. Her eyes went wide, and swiftly jumped up, calling to Charlie as she ran down the stairs in bare feet.. “The trees!”

Elena was outside, repairing the kickstand on her bike. She looked up with a grin when Pansy came bursting through the door.

“Pansy?”

“No time, Aunt Elena! I have to check the hybrids!” She was running down the steps, ignoring the pebbles that stabbed her feet every so often. She could hear Charlie not far behind her, and an Elena behind him. 

When they reached the section where the Romanian Sunshines grew, Pansy stopped beside a tree, eyeing it closely and searching the lower branches. Charlie appeared at her side, grinning from ear to ear. 

“Look, fresh blossoms! Pansy, it worked!” He lifted her up and spun her, her legs swinging behind her and her arms around his neck.

“What’s happened? What worked?” Charlie released her, allowing Pansy to rush up on her aunt and take her hands.

“We were able to sustain Uncle Perseus’s hybrids.” Elena’s eyes swelled, and she pulled Pansy in. Normally, Pansy wouldn’t be too thrilled on the amount of close intimacy, however, under the circumstances she didn’t think twice about it, instead returning the loving squeeze. When she pulled back, she held her aunt’s hands. “I’ll be able to come back next year to reseal them.”

Elena, much to her credit, held onto the smile she was wearing, though her eyes fell and turned sad. Pansy bit her lip. 

“Of course. I saw the owl drop the letter off yesterday. I had meant to tell you, but Mr Marsch had arrived and well, you know the rest. Although, you must know, you will always have a home here, Pansy. And should you ever want to come visit, you’re most welcome.”

A somewhat distraught Charlie appeared between them, his eyes holding something Pansy hadn’t seen in him before. “I should be getting back too. The guys are probably falling apart without me anyway.” He smiled, though the normal humor wasn’t present. Without a second look to Pansy, he then made his way through the orchard and disappeared into the trees. 

Despite the celebration and joy she had first felt from their success, Pansy’s heart sank into her stomach. But she didn’t have time to focus on that now. The feeling of Elena tugging on her hand brought her attention back from where Charlie had just been standing.

“Fate will work everything out as it should be.” 

There was that mystical cryptic talk from her aunt again. She simply nodded her head and followed the woman back to the cottage. She had packing to do, after all, if she was going to make the gala in time. 

🍎 🍎 🍎

She was reluctant in her packing, but reveled in the feel of her wand in her hand, using the extension charm on her suitcase as she neatly stacked her clothes inside. Pansy wasn’t smiling though, and quite frankly she didn’t understand exactly  _ why _ her lips remained so tightly pursed in a straight line across her face. It was, after all, her own decision to leave this blasted yet beautiful country. 

Pansy shrugged the feeling off. She had responsibilities back in London with her parents, the  _ pureblood  _ life she was raised to uphold. The sophisticated and lush and extravagant and regal and boring and unsatisfying life with countless obligatory meetings or galas incumbent upon her. Parkinsons, after all, were the epitome of wealth; the face of so-called neutral pureblood society. Pansy rolled her eyes at the thought. Nothing about her family - or  _ her _ for that matter - was neutral.

Pansy was beginning to realize - too late, of course - that by being in Romania, her chilly tones and crisp tongue have thawed and softened at the edges, if only a little. Scoffing audibly at no one but her own reflection, perhaps it was less the place and more the man.

She cast a curse at the mattress, the centerpiece of everything she both loved and hated about this room, as she groaned loudly in frustration. Charlie, the redheaded git who quite literally weaseled his way into her heart. She hadn’t the slightest idea her infuriating obstinate organ was capable of such feelings, the effects causing whirlwinds inside her chest. She hated him for that. In fact, she hated him quite a lot for causing such mixed and unfamiliar emotions to arise so frequently at all.

Pansy did  _ not _ belong in Romania, more specifically Pansy did not belong in this dusty old cottage. Her views on the muggle woman downstairs might have changed, Pansy opening up enough to let her in enough to claim her as her actual aunt. She was, all in all, the counterpart to her most favorite person she’d ever known. But it was obvious, none of these things were relevant enough to cause Pansy any obligations to stay.

There was a clatter at her balcony door. A small and swift collision of pebble to wood that stopped Pansy in her tracks. She shrieked, startled enough to drop her wand to the floor. She chipped a nail in the process.

“Bollucks!” 

The sound repeated itself, just as swift and abrupt, and she bent down to scoop up her wand again, presenting it in front of her at the ready. Pansy raised an eyebrow and cocked her head to the side as she approached the narrow arched door. She hadn’t emerged onto the balancya single time since she had arrived, never finding the point, especially seeing the condition of the rest of the cottage. It would be her luck to step out into the night only to plummet to her death - her luck was funny like that. 

“You in there, PJ?”

She dropped her wand again. How she survived this long in the wizarding world was a mystery at this point, but she stared blankly at the door as if it the planks themselves had spoken to her. It was silly to think the door was talking, only one person dared to call her such a hideous nickname. 

“Charlie?” Gods she sounded ridiculous, leaning against the chipped painted door with her palms pressed firmly on the wood.

“Open the door, princess.” Charlie’s voice was muffled with the barrier between them, and she finally wrapped her hand around the knob and pulled. She was not prepared for the scene before her.

Charlie was there, standing with his broom in the grass beneath her on the ground. His bare chest practically shimmered under the autumn moon, the number of freckles on his skin rivaling the stars in the sky above. Pansy actually swooned, her knees turning to marmalade as she propped herself against the metal railing of the small balcony just barely large enough for two. 

He mounted his broom in a very suave - very  _ Charlie -  _ fashion, one that was overly animated and caused Pansy to laugh. She hid her grin behind her hand, biting the end of her index finger as she watched him ascend towards her.

“I’m here to rescue you, my lady” Charlie flipped his hair back before offering her his hand. Pansy quirked an eyebrow.

“And what, pray tell, are you saving me from?” She leant forward, her one hand firmly gripped to the railing, the other entwining her fingers with his. He lowered himself onto the balcony beside her.

“From yourself.” He pulled her against him, her palms now resting on his chest, her nails brushing his skin. They were a breath away from one another, Pansy losing herself in how wonderful it felt to be in his arms as he snaked them around her waist. She pushed herself up onto her toes, satisfied in the way her combat boots held her steady, Charlie’s hold locking her in place. Their lips collided and the world simply melted away. 

Pansy tried to hold back the tears, knowing once they fell the moment would be lost, the silence of a romantic kiss shared replaced with the horrid sounds of her heaving into sobs. Her lips would collapse upon themselves, widening in breadth across her face over a quivering chin. She was, after all, notorious for ruining moments such as these. Charlie, however, didn’t allow it to happen. He kissed her with such fervor it didn’t concede her brain to react that way - or at all for that matter - drawing her in and molding her to him; melting her world to his with a lip locked seal. In that moment, there was nowhere else she wanted to be.

Breathless, he released her lips but held her close, her head coming to rest atop his shoulder. Gods how she loved the feel of his skin against her cheek. She closed her eyes, knowing how much she’d miss this.

“Do you know what I think?” Charlie’s voice came out in a half growl. Pansy shivered against him.

“Hmm?” She didn’t bother opening her eyes, content in her current position. Charlie rested his head against hers.

“I think you  _ want _ to stay.”

That was a preposterous accusation, not to mention bold to think she would want to choose a partially muggle influenced life over her London luxury. Furthermore, how dare he assume he knew what she wanted at all. A moment passed where neither of them spoke, although her eyes did open as she contemplated his words. Okay, perhaps there was some truth in what he had said, a hint of credible facts in both statement and  _ want _ , but Pansy knew as well as Charlie she  _ couldn’t _ stay. 

It couldn’t possibly be as simple as unpacking her bags, permitting Charlie to have his way with her on the wailing bed, and living a life with chilly air, crisp apples and hot tempered dragons. Unless it could. But surely it would only be a matter of time before he knew her for what she was. The villain in a tome rather than a princess in a fairytale - hell she’d settle for PJ if it meant he wouldn’t hate her in the end. 

“PJ?” Pansy shivered - there is was - the appellation she both despised and desired if only from his lips. She pulled back to gaze into his eyes, the brightest of blue and handsomely contrasted against the pigment of his skin and the color of his hair. He was simply put a beautiful man - rugged and barbaric at times - but  _ beautiful. _

“Charlie, there is so much about me you would absolutely hate.”

“Stop it.” He slid his fingers through her short black hair, his words airy and rough all at once. “You belong here. With Elena, with the orchard. With  _ me _ .” He bent down, brushing his lips on the curve of her neck, nipping lightly at the flesh of her skin. The bloody git was trying to seduce her. It was working.

“Char-” Pansy hummed into the chilly air around them, feeling its effects for the first time as she gently shoved Charlie back. “You incorrigible man! Will you  _ ever _ act like a gentleman?”

Charlie laughed, it was the unimportant laugh that meant absolutely everything to Pansy and she once again found herself hating the man for doing precisely what she had hoped he would do - whisk her away.

“Why don’t you reform my barbaric ways by staying with me. I won’t let you just leave when you so clearly wish to stay. Is it so horrible here?”

_ No. _

“Charlie, I just can’t alright?” She began to flail her arms, hoping she looked like the frustrated lady she was and not some hippogryph learning to fly. She grunted at the thought. “Ugh, I am not a good person!” She dropped her arms then, crossing them across her chest and shoving her bottom lip out in the most dramatic pout she’d performed yet. Charlie only rubbed her arms, his eyes looking at her in that sweet and trusting way.

“Pansy, I’ve seen you almost every day for a month.” He moved the hair from her face, rubbing his thumb across her cheek. She smiled through sulken lips. “Of  _ course _ I know that.” 

It was a joke, one where he began laughing uncontrollably at her surprised reaction. Pansy had a right mind to throw a wobbly right there, but it wouldn’t have done any good, although she did find she enjoyed pounding her fists at his chest.

“You are absolutely the  _ worst _ man in Romania!”

“Listen to me!” He dodged one of Pansy’s less than aggressive swings, grabbing both of her wrists easily so he could regain her attention. “Look, I knew a hell of a lot more about you than you knew of me. It doesn't change anything.” She gave up her fight, peering up with a quizzical expression, brow furrowed in thought. Had Charlie not kept both wrists refrained, she would have tugged on  _ both _ earlobes. She swallowed.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“It means, PJ,” he pulled her to him again and he smelled of sweet and flames, the aroma of apple hinting at his skin. Charlie was quite literally the apple to her tart. She groaned at her own cheesiness - damn that man. His lips were near her ear again. “Princess, I knew who you were. But I adore who you  _ are. _ ”

“Y-you do?” Pansy was beside herself. She’d never imagined she’d find herself in the arms of an ungentlemanly man, let alone a Weasley, but she didn’t mind it so much. She did, however, hate how unprepared she was for Charlie to accept her back. 

“Only you would sabotage romantic moment like this.” Charlie had presented his arms to the sides, reminding her of his efforts. She laughed, her eyes burning with the threat of tears. 

“You’ll have to get used to that I’m afraid. I tend to muck up most moments it seems.”

Charlie’s face shot back to hers with a newfound expression of triumph. He really was a child.

“Get used to- does that mean you’re staying?” Pansy was most certainly losing her mind.

“Yes.” 

He scooped her up into his large and beautifully crafted arms and kissed her before she could react further to anything - or change her mind. Charlie Weasley and Pansy Parkinson were stubborn at best, both incredibly witty with their crisp remarks and retorts, but he melted away the chilled fears of her past, allowing the fire between them to grow and burn. She was thankful for her wand again that day - and for his - as the silencing charm she placed on her bed prohibited any further comments from the muggle woman known as her Aunt Elena. Because Charlie was just as much a barbarian between the sheets as he was out. 


End file.
